Chapter 6 - Vera
I got to the school ten minutes early and spotted her right away. Red scarf, gray hair, hands folded in her lap on the bench by the gate. Exactly like Caleb had drawn her.
I marched over, ready to demand answers. But when she looked up, her eyes were so tired and so kind that my whole speech dried up in my throat.
"I'm Caleb's mother," I said.
"I know, dear. I'm Vera. I've been hoping to meet you." She patted the bench, and somehow I sat down.
"I taught kindergarten for forty years," she said softly. "I live right across the street. A few months ago I noticed a little boy sitting alone on the steps after everyone else had already gone home."
My stomach twisted. She kept going.
"I didn't want to scare him, so I just sat here. Some days we talked about his dog, Waffles. One rainy afternoon he showed me the little book you packed, with your address in it. You hadn't come after twenty minutes, so I drove him home myself and walked him up to your neighbor's porch. I hope that was all right."
I remembered that day — coming home frantic after finding my son missing from the school, only to find him dry on the Hendersons' couch with a note pinned to his jacket. I'd assumed some helpful parent from pickup had done it, and thanked the wrong people for weeks.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you do that for a stranger's child?"
Vera's smile trembled. "I lost my grandson six years ago. Caleb tilts his head the exact same way when he laughs."
I started crying right there on the bench. Every ounce of suspicion I'd carried collapsed into shame, and then into something warmer.
May you like
"I'm so sorry about your grandson," I said. "And I'm sorry — I thought the worst of you, when you were the reason my son was never really alone."
We exchanged phone numbers just as school let out for the day.
